


The Holmes Brothers and the Evil Overlord List

by WinterRose16



Category: Evil Overlord List - Fandom, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anachronic Order, Crack Treated Seriously, Holmes Brothers, Holmes Brothers' Childhood, Multi, Post-His Last Vow, post-Hounds of Baskerville
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-20
Updated: 2015-09-26
Packaged: 2018-03-31 11:37:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3976645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WinterRose16/pseuds/WinterRose16
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of moments in the life of Mycroft and Sherlock Holmes as inspired by the rules of the Evil Overlord List.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Rule 10

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by a Kinkmeme prompt where Sherlock and Mycroft have their own version of the Evil Overlord List, created by Jack Butler and Peter Anspach. I misread the prompt and started a series of connected short stories about the List instead and how the boys would put it into practice. 
> 
> First disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock Holmes in any way, shape, or form. The characters were originally created by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and this particular incarnation is owned by Steve Moffat, Mark Gatiss, and the BBC.
> 
> As for the List itself: This Evil Overlord List is Copyright 2015 by Jack Butler. I'm using the version found on the now defunct site of Peter Anspach, as it's the one I first found and everything is neatly numbered and categorized.

_Rule 10: I will not interrogate enemies in the inner sanctum—a small hotel well outside my borders will work just as well._

“Bit of a step down from your usual places, isn’t it?” Sherlock Holmes, all long limbs and huge hands and feet, like a puppy, eyed the cheerful and cozy furnishings of the bed and breakfast with distaste. Floral prints, overstuffed armchairs, and Hummel figurines abounded, and he was quite sure he could smell freshly-made scones from downstairs. In other words, it was disgustingly cute.

“I’m not inclined to waste my superiors’ money on my sixteen-year-old brother.” Mycroft Holmes, aged twenty-three, gripped the handle of his brand-new umbrella. “Where are they, Sherlock?”

“Don’t you think that the British government can afford to switch to CD-ROMs and stop using floppy disks?” Sherlock was sprawled out on the overstuffed sofa, using his rolled-up Harrow bluer and jumper as a pillow. Occasionally, he would toss his boater hat into the air and catch it.

“Sherlock, that disk has some very sensitive information that is about to get transferred and I don’t need to explain to my superiors that a teenager destroyed or leaked the information while trying to use it to store his pornography!”

Sherlock looked insulted. “Oh, please! It was bright orange! Anyone could see it!” His voice went up an octave and cracked. With a look of self-disgust, he coughed, made a few noises to ensure that his voice had settled, and said, “You really should start smoking again; you’ve gained a whole stone in the last ten weeks.”

“If you give me the disk now, I won’t tell our parents what you get up to at school. I’m sure they would be very interested to know exactly _why_ you left the school orchestra after the Christmas concert.” Mycroft’s smile was bland, but had the promise of shark-like viciousness behind it.

“Damn. I was hoping to drag this out until after sport.” Reluctantly, Sherlock sat up and pulled the orange floppy out of his back pocket. His trousers had fit perfectly six weeks ago and now they were already too short in the ankle, exposing his socks. He handed his brother the disk, saying, “Everything’s in apple-pie order, exactly as you left it. Can I go now?”

“If you would apply yourself, you could be in university right now,” Mycroft said smoothly. He received a two-fingered salute in response and sighed. Perhaps it was a good thing he had no intention of having his name in the history books; he didn’t think he could bear it if the rest of the world knew how he was almost destroyed by a bored teenager.


	2. Rule 4

_Rule 4: Shooting is not too good for my enemies. _

Mycroft’s head hurt from the aftereffects of the drugged punch. “How could you have been so _stupid_?”

Sherlock said nothing.

“Do you realize what you have done?”

“Saved John’s marriage and baby and earned a one-way ticket to Serbia.”

“You have _destroyed_ one of the best resources we had!”

“Magnussen deserved it! He was using Mary to get to you—”

“Who do you think he was going to tell about Ab—?”

“Mary Watson—”

“Abigail Andrews!” Mycroft corrected. “Abigail Grange Robinson Andrews—”

“Mary Elizabeth Morstan Watson!” Sherlock shouted.

“She almost killed you, and you repay her by convincing her husband—one of the few friends you have ever had—to come crawling back—”

“She makes him happy!”

“Clearly not anymore!”

“Leaving aside the fact that he was miserable without her, she’s carrying his child and you know it!”

“If he received anonymous letters that the child wasn’t his—”

Sherlock looked enraged. “Don’t you dare! You _know_ the baby is his!”

“It is, but paternity tests can be forged—”

Sherlock tried to launch himself at his brother, but he was handcuffed to the arms of the chair. “If you dare to hurt John like that—”

“He’s better off without her—”

“He _wants_ a wife and a family. And she's devoted to him.”

Mycroft studied Sherlock closely. “It’s a pity you aren’t in love with him.”

Sherlock laughed mirthlessly. “I know.”

Mycroft shook his head and wished he hadn’t. “Did you really think that he would turn down a chance at romance and family to grow old with his best friend? That even if he fell in love, you would still be the most important person in the world to him? Oh, _Sherlock_.”

“Shut up,” Sherlock growled. “Make yourself useful and tell me when my plane’s leaving so that I can pack and find my passport.”

“Three days from now. Lady Smallwood will fill you in on the details.”

“Thank you.” As Mycroft turned to leave, Sherlock added, “And Mycroft?”

“Yes?”

“If I hear that Mary dies after the birth of the child, I will return, and I _will_ tell John that you were responsible. If the baby dies, every government secret I have _will_ be exposed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why yes, I did come up with a full name for AGRA just to get an Abbey Grange pun. You're welcome.


	3. Rule 34

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: This is NOT the Rule 34 that you're thinking of. This is something entirely different.

_Rule 34: I will not turn into a snake. It never helps._

“Sherlock, what are those?” John asked.

“Passwords to Baskerville’s computer system. Frankland’s login information is still valid.” Sherlock entered commands on a keyboard.

“Because…?” John made sure that it wasn’t his laptop that Sherlock was using before going to the kitchen.

Sherlock grinned and did some typing. “Bored.”

The door downstairs opened and closed and they could hear Mycroft and Mrs. Hudson’s voices. John rolled his eyes and gave Sherlock a stern look. “You could have at least warned me we’d have company _before_ you logged in.”

“He’s five minutes slow,” Sherlock remarked, checking the clock on the computer screen. “Traffic must be worse than I expected.”

Footsteps came up the stairs and there was the rap of an umbrella handle against the door. “It’s locked,” Sherlock called.

“I have keys, Sherlock,” Mycroft answered, bored and exasperated.

“Of course he does,” John sighed, getting out slices of ham and a block of cheese.

“Get some use out of them, then." Sherlock did some mouse-clicking.

Mycroft did and came inside. “You realize that your little stunt at Baskerville cost at least three million pounds’ worth of lost research.”

“What a shame,” Sherlock drawled. “Does Little Mikey have anything to do with this?”

Mycroft blanched. “Where did you hear that name?”

“Why is your DNA being combined with that of a Burmese python?” Sherlock shot back.

John’s head snapped up. “Please tell me that's code for something."

“When I provided my DNA, I did not specify what it was supposed to be used for,” Mycroft said. “They have carte blanche for anything short of cloning me.”

“Thank God,” Sherlock commented. “Nice to see that they haven’t succeeded with Little Mikey, either. That’s a horrible thing to do to an innocent snake.”

John muttered Dari swearwords under his breath as he got the mustard out. “Sherlock, Mycroft, tea?”

“No, thank you, John,” Mycroft answered. He turned back to Sherlock. “As you have pointed out, the Snake Project has yet to succeed, so we are talking about a hypothetical animal.”

“Going to introduce him to Mummy as her first grandchild?” Sherlock adopted a tone of faux-innocence. “I hear pythons are very cuddly.”

“Can we _please_ skip the sniping today and just go to Sherlock handing the information over and Mycroft making a vaguely threatening comment? I’m getting a headache and I need you two to _shut it_.” John got out the bread.

“I didn’t _succeed_ in drugging you, John!” Sherlock grumbled.

“You meant to, and that’s just as bad!” John started slicing the bread far harder than necessary. “The word ‘friend’ is not synonymous with ‘test subject’!”

Mycroft smiled at Sherlock. “Well, well, well.”

“Shut up, Mycroft.” Sherlock deleted the relevant information from his computer with a few keyboard commands.

“John, don’t take it personally. Sherlock does not subject others to tests he would not do on himself,” Mycroft said.

“Oh, yeah, reassuring that an ex-junkie would be willing to experiment on himself with unknown substances!”

“I know what I’m doing!” Sherlock flared up. “I am a certified chemist—”

“You’re a certified idiot!”

Sherlock sprang to his feet, incensed. "How _dare_ you--!"

The following shouting match provided cover for Mycroft to get at Sherlock's laptop and perform a much more thorough cleaning of his hard drive, erasing all government-related files. He nodded, looked back at the argument, rolled his eyes, and left, closing and locking the door behind him.


End file.
